“Are you not taking anything off?” she asked as she looked up at me, and just as I started to lift my shirt up past my navel, I stopped.
“Umm, remember, it, uh, looks worse than it is,” I grumbled self-consciously. But when I met her gaze that was filled with nothing but anticipation and warmth, it filled me with courage to take my shirt off, tossing the tee over my shoulder.
For a moment, she sat up, drawing my eyes to her large breasts and the way they jiggled. “Lincoln,” she whispered, and before I could back up, her hands were on me. Not just tracing and touching my scars but my entire torso. “You’re just… wow… you’re like a Viking,” she whispered, and a broken chuckle bubbled out of me.
“What?” My lips twitched.
“Strong and powerful,” she said with awe as her palms rested on my biceps. “Like a painting,” she whispered, almost like she was talking to herself.
“Joy—"
“You’re perfect.” She met my eyes bravely, head on, not hiding an ounce of her affection and honesty.
“Fuck,” I cursed as my hand tightened over her hip.
With every word that slipped past her lips, she unmanned me. Putting pieces she hadn’t broken back into place and sealing them with gold. I settled myself on her side, my hand sliding down her body.
“Tell me when it’s too much,” I whispered, dipping my head down to kiss her shoulder, and I watched as her head fell back onto her pillow, getting comfortable as she let me explore her body.